


From the Bottom

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Spoilers for "The Benders."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

From the Bottom _**Fic: From the Bottom**_  
Title: From the Bottom  
Author: [ ](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/)**impertinence**  
Pairing: Sam/Dean  
Rating: NC-17  
Notes: I don't remember if they had a motel room in this particular episode, but my way of thinking is that there's always a room. This was written in the wee hours after "The Benders" aired, so it's a little ~~insane~~ rough.  
 **Spoilers** for "The Benders"!  
  
  
  
“So, the next time I get kidnapped by crazy rednecks obsessed with hunting, you’re going to let them kill me.” Sam’s voice was calm, but his eyes held that dangerous edge that Dean knew meant his little brother was very, very angry.  
  
“Damn straight.”  
  
“Is that so?” Sam threw open the hotel door with enough force to send the cheap wooden slab flying inward, hitting the wall. Wood chips flew up from the force of the impact. “Because it seems to me,” Sam continued, “That this has nothing to do with being straight.”  
  
Dean groaned outright at that. “Not this again, Sammy! I told you, I don’t have time to baby-sit. Alright? You want to get kidnapped, fine, but do it on your own time.”  
  
“On my own time? That was my time, you jackass! I was in a parking lot!”  
  
Something—he didn’t know what, exactly—snapped inside Dean. Whatever bit of restraint he’d been harboring disappeared. “And _I wasn’t there!_ ” he roared. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sam. I left you alone for what, two minutes? And you’re getting your ass kidnapped by a bunch of crazy people! How the hell am I supposed to protect you against monsters when you can’t even handle yourself around some backwater prick?”  
  
He broke off abruptly, wincing. Shit. He’d said way too much just then.  
  
Sam’s voice was soft again, but it had lost its previous edge. Now it was just…speculative. Damn.  
  
“So that’s what this is about.”  
  
“No, it’s not.” He avoided his little brother’s eyes, knowing all too well what would happen if he got caught in them. “I’m just tired of having to rescue you.”  
  
“But you didn’t. Not really. You think I didn’t hear you up there?” The taller boy—no, man, he was long past being a boy—locked eyes with him, and he couldn’t look away. “You told them to shoot me. You knew I’d be able to get out.”  
  
“I thought they were gonna let you out,” he said through gritted teeth.  
  
Sam shook his head. “But you weren’t sure. You knew I’d fight, though. And you knew I was yours to condemn.”  
  
A bitter laugh crossed Dean’s lips. “If I wanted a psychic I’d go see one, dude. And not just one who has fucked up dreams that sometimes come true.”  
  
“Come on, Dean. Let’s not play games.” Sam took a step forward, and Dean lost his breath. “You knew,” he repeated, “that I’d fight back and win. You knew we’d both come out of there as pissed as it’s possible to be.” He reached out a hand and barely—just barely—brushed Dean’s cheek with his knuckles. A new scab scraped the vulnerable skin, and Dean shivered.  
  
“You knew,” Sam whispered, “That I’d do anything to get out of there. Because you know I’m yours.”  
  
He didn’t want to step forward but Sam wasn’t going to close the space and _fuck_ but he needed the space closed. Sam had been gone too long and Dean had been too desperate—having him here was driving him out of his mind.  
  
So he did what they both wanted: grasped Sam’s arms tightly, took a step forward, and attacked Sam’s mouth with his.  
  
There was really no other word for it. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, or even a passionate one. Actually, Dean wasn’t sure if it counted as a kiss at all. He wasn’t trying to reaffirm that Sam was alive or any of that emo shit; he was trying to get it across to Sam that if he ever pulled a stunt like that again, Dean _would_ rescue him, just so he could commit the murder himself.  
  
It was an attack, pure and simple, and Sam responded as such.  
  
There had been no demon this time and both men felt the adrenalin that hadn’t risen back in the woods come rushing to the surface now. Dean made a move to yank off Sam’s shirt—but Sam was already there, pulling it off and then Dean’s too. When Dean made to push Sam down onto the narrow bed, he found that Sam was already pushing him, using those damnably long legs to trip him onto the bed.  
  
The springs of the mattress squealed as he fell on them, but Dean couldn’t have cared less—because his partner in crime was stripping off his pants, and his dick was full and hard and right _there._ He barely had a chance to admire the sight before his own jeans were ripped off roughly and a hard body covered his own.  
  
Sammy was topping tonight.  
  
Dean shuddered and then moaned—long and loud and revealing. Sam chuckled. “So, you like this? Like knowing that after all the hero work, the damsel in distress is going to fuck you silly?”  
  
“The damsel has a dick and can’t talk dirty worth a damn,” Dean shot back. He arched his back, his hips coming up to meet Sam’s. The contact almost made him come right then and there.  
  
“But you like it.” Almost idly, Sam dipped a hand between them and ran a finger along their cocks.  
  
“Aah! Fuck, Sammy, you know I do.”  
  
Another smug chuckle. Dean was going to _kill_ the bastard…later. “You know, it’s a funny story,” Sam said. Another finger joined the one that was already stroking. He leaned down to kiss Dean briefly, not even taking the time to tangle his tongue with his brother’s, before continuing. “That guy, Jenkins? He called me Sammy when we were in those cages.”  
  
He hadn’t known he could growl, but then he hadn’t known till a few weeks ago that he could fuck his brother and love every minute of it. First time for everything and all that. “So, is that what turned you on? I’m sloppy seconds, then?”  
  
“Hell, no. I told him to cut it out.”  
  
“And then he died?”  
  
Amusement. “Soon after that, yeah.”  
  
“Good.” Moving lightning-fast, his fingers wrapped around Sam’s hips, pushing him almost brutally downward. From his position beneath his brother, Dean grinned and ground his hips in a deliberately circular motion. “Because you’re mine. Anyone else calls you that and they’ll get a different kind of Winchester pointed at their balls.”  
  
Well, it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who could make little strangled growling noises. “Dean…”  
  
“Ah, shit.” He threw caution to the wind and arched beneath his tall brother, pressing their chests together. Usually there was kissing, licking, biting—all that foreplay crap. But right now, all he wanted was—  
  
“Fuck me.”  
  
He opened an eye he hadn’t realized he’d closed and arched an eyebrow at his brother. “Dude. You’re on top.”  
  
“I know.” Sam smiled then, the bright, carefree smile Dean remembered from before Stanford. “So I figure, we’re even. Kind of like tonight. And,” he added before Dean could interrupt, “Don’t worry about the cops. Because technically you’re dead, and neither of us is in this hotel. So it’s okay.”  
  
“Fucked up logic,” Dean informed him, but he was reaching for the condoms even as he said it.  
  
It was quick work, getting one on and getting it lubed up—even quicker with Sam’s eager help. When he was ready, he squeezed a bit on his fingers, parted Sam’s ass, and slipped a finger in.  
  
And wasn’t that a pretty picture, seeing Sam naked and kneeling on top of him, completely willing, eyes closed in ecstasy as Dean’s finger fucked him? Dean grinned and added another, savoring the way Sam gasped and trembled, his dick waving in the air. “Bitch,” he said affectionately, his own cock nudging Sam’s leg.  
  
He’d expected to get swatted, or at leas to get one of those pissy looks Sam did so well. Instead, the younger man gasped—and his cock jumped again, almost violently.  
  
Well, well. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a bondage kink,” Dean said, inordinately pleased with his discovery. “So, Sammy—you’ve got a thing for bottoming from the top, huh?”  
  
Sam didn’t answer, didn’t even bother to open his eyes. Encouraged, Dean continued, “See, personally, I think it’s a little fucked. You shove me in here, act all tough and aggressive—but somehow, here I am, fucking you—“ he twisted his fingers to emphasize his point, drawing a groan from the body kneeling over his—“and talking dirty to you, and you like it. You. Little. Bitch.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.  
  
“I bet you’d love it if I tied you up and put my mouth on your dick, wouldn’t you? Little baby Sammy letting his big brother take care of him.” Three fingers, now. Thrusting, twist, thrust again. Both their bodies were shuddering, Dean’s cock almost as swollen as Sam’s. It hadn’t occurred to him that neither of them would last through this little game.  
  
He decided to finish it quickly. Removing his fingers, he grabbed Sam and yanked him forward, forward…  
  
And impaled the shuddering body on his own.  
  
Both hissed out a breath as Dean sank in. Sam’s body, so willing during that little fingerfuck, was suddenly stiff and active again, and it was making holding on even harder—literally. His fingers dug into Dean’s shoulders and his eyes flew open, locking with Dean’s and holding his gaze just as intently as he had before.  
  
Dean let his lip curl. “Had enough, Sammy?”  
  
Sam laughed and jerked his hips, deliberately tightening his already viselike grip on Dean’s cock. “Not exactly.”  
  
“You—son—of a—bitch,” Dean exclaimed with feeling, capturing Sam’s lips with his own and gripping Sam’s prone dick, jerking it off almost viciously.  
  
Sam just laughed again. It didn’t make sense that he should be laughing, when Dean’s own body was on fire, but he was. “I thought I was the bitch,” he said. “How can I be—ooh, God—the son of one?”  
  
Dean shrugged and affected a devil-may-care look, but his thrusts became even deeper and harder. “Hey, our family’s fucked up enough, it’s probably possible. Don’t bend your brain, Stanford.”  
  
“See, I really don’t think we’re fucked up just quite enough.” Sam’s hips slammed against his own and Dean felt his world spin and _almostbutnotquite_ lose focus. His grip became hard, bruising, but instead of backing down Sam just rode him harder. “Or maybe we’re just plain not fucked enough. That might be it.”  
  
“You goddamned girl,” he gasped. It was too much, hearing Sam’s thoughtful, clinical lawyer voice when his body was so warm and welcoming and—  
  
Sam’s hand wormed its way to Dean’s nipple and his mouth was on Dean’s again, worrying the lower lip—  
  
And Dean was gone.  
  
Fireworks and lightning and all that shit, yeah, it happened. But what Dean always remembered most about these moments was Sam. Sam’s arms, holding him close. Sam’s voice, whispering the most loving, dirty, girly things in the world. “Just let go…I want it too…fuck, Dean, you’re so hot, so sexy…and I’m yours…and you’re mine, coming inside me because you won’t let anyone else…fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …Dean…”  
  
Sam’s body, spasming around his own as Dean’s grip on his cock and the spurts in his ass became too much to bear.  
  
It was almost a full five minutes later when Dean muttered, “You feel like a pile of bricks. Get the hell offa me.”  
  
“That good, huh?” Sam obeyed him easily.  
  
“Fuck yeah.” Companionable silence, then: “So. Think we can tell Dad about this?”  
  
Dean had the pleasure of watching abject horror cross his brother’s face. “ _What?_ ”  
  
“Yeah, you know…let him know we had a fight, just to keep him informed. Maybe give him a few details about the make-up sex, too.”  
  
“You’re sick.”  
  
“At least I can top. ‘Ooh, Dean, _fuck me,_ ’” Dean said in a high falsetto that didn’t sound a bit like Sam.  
  
A pillow connected very solidly with his cranium.  
  
“How about I borrow those handcuffs from that cop friend of yours and we see who’s a bottom?” Sam’s voice was challenging. Dean glanced over at him.  
  
Glinting eyes, stubborn jaw, full lips. Long, long legs. Sweat-covered chest. Not-so-limp cock.  
  
 _Oh hell yes._  
  
He smiled lazily. “I think I’m up to the challenge.”  
  
It was a good two hours before the people in the next room managed to get some sleep.  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: *covers face with hands* I’m going to hell. I’m going straight to hell…

  
 


End file.
